


Lies Linger on Hearts Far Longer Than Lips

by anarchycox



Series: Witcher Bingo Card Prompts [20]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Conversation, Familial Bonds, Feels, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, The Truth Hurts, Truth Serum, angsty hand job, bad relationship starts to become a good one, defining relationships, minor jaskier/vesemir, minor triss/eskel, poor communication, the truth heals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/anarchycox
Summary: Lambert loves to experiment with making vodka. Only one day the experiment becomes a potent truth serum. He has a choice, run away from everyone at the keep until it is out of his system, or maybe make everyone, especially Geralt finally deal with the truth.Lambert is a lot of things that are good and bad, but he is never a coward, and it is finally time everyone was honest with each other.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Series: Witcher Bingo Card Prompts [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746034
Comments: 58
Kudos: 223





	Lies Linger on Hearts Far Longer Than Lips

**Author's Note:**

> for jealousy on my bingo card.

Lambert wasn’t whistling as he worked, because whistling was annoying. If he wanted music he’d have Jaskier around singing or humming. It was easy enough to get the man to play for you while you did something of actual consequence. You just had to say, “Huh, bet you don’t know any songs about women who lost their loves to the sea.” Then whammo, you had a self righteous bard and a few hours of music as he proved you wrong. He was a smart man, but so easily tricked on that sort of thing. So there wasn’t music as he worked, because the bard was curled up in Vesemir's bed having a lazy day, and Lambert as he had mentioned didn’t whistle. 

He didn’t know that when left alone, and he was focused on his work, he would repeat recipes out loud, listing ingredients and measurements in a light lilt, the words falling up and down, almost in a song pattern. But since everyone at Kaer Morhen valued their lives they didn’t mention it. Triss almost had once, but Eskel had tackled her, shut her up with a kiss. It had the added benefit of nudging the two of them together. 

“Alcohest, caldenia, fool’s parsley, sapphire dust,” he didn’t hear the words fall from his lips as he opened the valve on the one tube, and let the liquid slowly pour into the glass jar. “Ciri,” he called hearing footsteps behind him. 

“I didn’t do it,” she offered quickly. For a moment he remembered her saying that as a child, the first year here. But her voice was low and smooth now, she was almost grown. “In fact, you probably did it, and are trying to foist it off onto me because you believe Uncle Vesemir will go easier on me than you. So in fact, you did it. And I won’t cover for you. Unless it was really cool, and I can blow something up too.”

He laughed. She might be almost grown but somethings didn’t change. Not between them. “I was just going to ask you to pass me the brown satchel from the crate there.” He gestured.

“Oh, yes, well, just so we are clear - I haven’t done anything.”

“The sort of haven’t done anything that your father cares about, or the sort of that I care about?” He looked at her, and she was smiling. It was a smile he had taught her. One that was pure trouble. “Brown satchel. And tell me or you are grounded.”

“Look, brown satchel,” she said and threw it. “Bye! And there is no need to count your bottles in the room you hide them in!” Ciri was running for the door, all grace and speed like a doe in fall. “Off to Mama, be back in a few weeks.” There was a flash of green and she was gone.

Lambert would have yelled after her, but she was halfway across the continent. He wanted to go check his secret stash of vodka, but he was at an important stage. He had started to experiment with putting different flavours into the vodka he had made, and he had found a root in the south, that was both bitter and sweet at the same time. Lambert thought a bit mixed in would be perfect. He sniffed the root and there was no rot or mold on it, which was a relief that his drying of it had gone well. In the drying and sitting the smell had grown stronger, and when he ground it in a mortar, even more so. He had taken it to a herbalist on the path and had also had Triss check it out when she had arrived, everyone said it wasn’t poisonous unless someone turned out to be allergic. Lambert tasted a bit, and it was edging a bit too bitter. He went to his crate of supplies and found some lavender. Lavender in vodka would generally be ridiculous but he had a feeling that a just a bit in with the root he had found would offer perfect balance. He ground it in, added a bit of water and held it over a flame. The paste that formed was gorgeous smelling. You would only know lavender was in it if you knew it. That could be fun, make everyone guess the secret flavour. He put it in some cheese cloth, to strain the liquid out. He added it into on of the hanging vessels and slowly mixed it into the first distillation and then the next, and finally it all went through the third filtration. 

Lambert poured a small dram and sniffed it. “Damn,” he whispered, the fumes strong as hell. He took a sip, let it sit on his tongue. It packed the punch of a bruxa but was smooth. The root added an almost licorice but not quite taste, and that almost noticeable lavender taste. Lambert swallowed the bit and then shot back the rest of the small glass. He winced and growled, but it was the happy noise of something working out well. 

He went to the kitchens where he had bottles boiling to disinfect. He collected them, burning his fingertips on the hot glass as he put them in a crate. He went back to the still and bottled the vodka. There was a bit left after and he put it in a glass. He wrapped each bottle, in parchment with the date and the flavour note. Ideally it should sit for a few weeks before they drank it. He took the crate to the alcohol cellar and put next to his other batches. He removed two bottles and went to the room where he hid his personal stash, and sure enough a few of the blackberry bottles were missing. 

Lambert went to Ciri’s room and moved everything just the barest hint to the left. It would unsettle her upon her return and she’d have no idea why. He did an evil laugh and looked around. Hmmm, yes good, he went to her chest and started to swap the order of a couple shirts, and found a wooden dildo. Lambert immediately closed the chest. He moved the leshen doll that Eskel had made her and rested on her window sill and quickly left the room.

He ran into Jaskier in the hall and tried to skirt by him.

“Were you just in Ciri’s room?”

Lambert went to say no, only, “Yes,” was what came out of his mouth.

“Why? Geralt has said we don’t go into her space when she is gone, and she said she was going to Yen for a bit to study something she found out about in the library.”

“I was moving all her stuff in revenge for drinking my secret stash of vodka, but it backfired a bit because I found sex toys in her chest and now I just want to stab a dagger up my nasal cavity and into my brain to forget that my poppet is growing up too fast.” Lambert teeth hurt with how hard he slammed his jaw closed. It may be just about the most he had ever said to Jaskier. 

“That was very honest and specific,” Jaskier seemed stunned. “Are you alright?”

“Better than you with that limp, Vesemir worked your ass hard last night huh?”

“I…” Jaskier looked like a fish out of water.

“I have to go,” Lambert almost shouted, “because I don’t want to be in this conversation any longer.” Lambert wasn’t running, but he wasn’t not running from Jaskier either.

“Lambert something is wrong, shouldn’t we figure this out?”

“Fuck no,” Lambert kept moving, quickened his pace.

“No, nothing is wrong?”

“Something is wrong, really really wrong, and we are not figuring it out.” Fuck it, Lambert didn’t care about what Jaskier would say to Vesemir, to Geralt, he took off running. He grabbed a sword and crossbow from by the main door and ran down the trail to the water. He went and sat in the boat he had made, killed the couple drowners that approached. He tried to figure out what had happened. Had Jaskier cast a spell on him?

Unlikely, because if Jaskier had that power he would have used it long ago, on Geralt, and then Lambert would have killed him. Unless he had but was so powerful that they hadn’t noticed he had somehow bewitched Geralt. But why, they had only slept together a handful of times until they realized they were happy being friends, and then Jaskier met Vesemir and they had that instant weird kinky mind meld connection that he really didn’t want to think about.

He had once walked in on them when he needed Vesemir’s help with a decoction. He didn’t like knowing that the old bastard was that limber. He sat in the boat and picked off drowners and tried to solve the problem. He heard footsteps, could smell who Jaskier sent. “Do not ask me any questions, I fucking mean it old man.” Because he had figured out that much at least, everything he had blurted out had been in response to a question. “Shit. No, wait. Vesemir you need to ask me like one question.” He shot another drowner, at least they’d have some good bits to work with. “Nothing too much though,” he added. “Nothing about shit that matters.”

“What is your favourite dessert?”

“Apple dumplings,” Lambert answered honestly. “But you knew that one, I don’t mind sharing that so it doesn’t prove anything. Needs to be a bit harder.” Lambert got out of the boat, began to gather bits from the corpses. “Something that I’d lie about otherwise.”

“You lie about everything,” Vesemir pointed out, “Because you’d rather I not know you.”

“There is no question in that,” Lambert looked at Vesemir. They stared at each other, decades of conversations never had in the air between them. “Ask me, old man.”

“Do you hate me?”

“I wish I did,” Lambert replied, instead of whatever snarky thing he would have said any other time. “I want to hate you so fucking much. Because you are what is left of the ones who did this. But you aren’t them. You were an asshole, fuck I hated you some days, in the training days. But you aren’t…You didn’t take me, you didn’t make this, you are just the only one left who I can be mad at. If I hated you, I wouldn’t feel like shit for some of the things I say to you.”

“Well then, how the fuck did you end up taking a truth serum?”

“I didn’t!” Lambert snapped. “I know what those taste like. I didn’t take one.” His mouth spoke the next words, and it took his brain a moment to understand their meaning. “I made one.”

“You did what?”

“New vodka flavour, with a root I found in the south, but I had tried it on the path, it isn’t on its own. So either it reacted to the alcohol content,” Lambert groaned, “the secret ingredient. Agent, chemical reaction. Whammo whoopsy vodka truth serum.” He looked at Vesemir. “A couple full glasses.”

“But it only seems to respond to direct questions.” Lambert didn’t reply to that. “Would you agree?”

“Yes,” Lambert snapped. “Shit, it was really tasty vodka too.” He had a few sacks in the boat and put the eyes and brains in one. He slung it over his shoulder. “Average truth serum is shorter than people realize, because people fight it. No one wants to be laid bare. Even the most potent is a handful of hours at most.”

“But you made this, and you don’t make shit, do you?”

“I’m fucked until morning.”

“Would you like to hear your options as I view them?” 

“More than I want to ride Geralt’s cock, should he ever realize there is more than one position in bed,” Lambert said and they both froze. Lambert focused on the bloody bag that he was holding. He could feel Vesemir’s gaze on him. “Please,” Lambert refused to call it begging, though the tone was pretty close to it. “Please?” The second one was definitely begging.

“You can hide in your room, until this passes, but since we don’t know when it will pass, I will have to check ask you a question every few hours. No one else has to know. Jaskier just knows something is wrong but not what.”

“Yeah, but it’s him, he’ll pester until he finds out,” Lambert said, well knowing the bard.

“Yes but he is already in trouble with me, so he’ll behave on this one, not going to want another spanking again anytime soon.”

“Oh fuck, Vesemir, no,” Lambert threw up a little in his mouth. “Why would you say that to me?”

“Leveling the over sharing playing field,” Vesemir said. “Your other option is be honest with everyone.”

“They’ll ask too many questions.”

“No, they won’t,” Vesemir swore. “You are more respected and loved than you realize. Your family won’t hurt you.”

“Vesemir?”

“Yes?”

“Do you hate me?”

“No,” Vesemir came close and clasped a hand around his neck, just like he did with Geralt, with Eskel. It was a loving touch and something that had ached inside Lambert for decades eased a bit. “No, pup, I never have. You are a source of frustration, but I always understood it. We clash, but it was fine. I swear.”

Lambert nodded a bit. “I’m not going to hide,” he decided, “Not if you promise you can keep Jaskier on a leash.” He watched a gleam enter Vesemir’s eyes, and a smirk grow over the man’s mouth. “Oh my fucking hell, you actually do that, don’t you?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?”

Oh that was a bridge too fucking far. “Yes,” came out of Lambert’s mouth. “Fuck, the curiosity will bug me otherwise.”

“Only if he has been very, very good,” Vesemir said. “Do I ask about your comment about Geralt?”

Lambert was quiet, not fighting the answer, more his brain was clearly trying to sort out what was the truth. “Yes,” he finally whispered. “Ask me about what Geralt and I are to each other.”

“What are you and Geralt to each other?”

That Vesemir asked exactly what he wanted him to, relieved something in Lambert. “I don’t know. Two years, now, we are something. I thought we were more? But I don’t know. He comes to my room and fucks me, and then leaves. Fuck Vesemir, sometimes I don’t even see his face. But then, when we train, he’ll have this look in his eyes. It is how he used to look at Yen, but directed at me and I don’t get it.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“No, fuck no,” Lambert sneered, “What am I supposed to say, Geralt I thought when you came to me that meant you gave a fuck, not just that you wanted an easy fuck?”

“Yes,” Vesemir replied.

“I can’t and don’t ask me why not,” Lambert warned him. He started for the keep, bag of organs over his shoulder. He could feel Vesemir next to him, and he found it oddly calming, not aggravating like he often did. “Nothing is ever mine. No one is. And for just a moment I thought maybe. But come on, I’m just a place holder until the next great love of his life. Always one around the corner.”

“I was very sure that Jaskier was using me until he and Geralt truly recognized their feelings. Until Geralt was over Yen and saw what had been next to him the whole time,” Vesemir said as they started up the steep incline. “I held myself back, because that way it wouldn’t hurt as much when he left.”

“What I walked in on a few weeks ago was you holding back?” Lambert snorted a bit and then laughed some more when Vesemir cuffed him up the head. “You were the one being gross.”

“You were the one who forgot to knock, just as you always do. Just like you always have done. Mind racing with whatever formula or idea you have come up with. Eager to share, to impress, thinking I cared more about Geralt and Eskel, never seeing you are my favourite.”

That caused Lambert to stumble. “Bullshit.”

“It can be if that makes your life easier. Do you want it to be bullshit?” Vesemir asked.

“No,” Lambert felt his eyes well, and he blinked back the tears. He had secretly always carried a thought, buried deep and he never said, too scared to, but now he supposed he could blame it on the truth serum. “Did the mutagens go wrong with me?”

“Not that I know of,” Vesemir paused just before a tricky part of the climb back to the keep. “Why do you think that they might have?”

“Because it hurts all the time. They were supposed to make us feel less, but I’ve only ever felt more.” Lambert stared at the keep, at the window that he knew was Geralt’s. “It always fucking hurts, Dad.”

That warm hand was on his neck. “You can choose, pup, to let go of the hurt. I don’t hold back anymore with Jaskier, because I was just poisoning myself. I would have rotted away all the feelings we did have. And when I let go, he did too. Maybe he won’t always be mine, but I will always know that the time we had together we didn’t waste.”

“Did he promise you all sorts of flowery crap about how the love he had for you and Geralt were different, that -” Lambert was about to say something sarcastic and biting, and Vesemir was fucking trying. He could try too dammit. “I’m not jealous of their friendship, their love.”

“You just want to know where you fit in Geralt’s heart.”

It wasn’t a question so Lambert didn’t feel physically compelled to answer, but he did anyways. “I just would like to know that he thinks of me at all.”

“Consider this, son, maybe he is holding the same fear.” The hand on his neck squeezed and Vesemir pressed his forehead to Lambert’s. “You are my favourite, even when you drive me crazy.”

“Because I drive you crazy.”

“That is the fucking truth. I am cursed to love mouthy, contrary people.”

Lambert thought of himself, Jaskier, Ciri. The people that Vesemir apparently loved. He really did have a type. He felt better, lighter having had this talk with Vesemir. “If I asked a favour of you at dinner tonight would you do it?”

“I would,” Vesemir swore. 

Lambert nodded and they finished the walk in silence. He had a plan, but it relied on everyone at the keep doing as he asked. No one ever did as he asked. But he also never let people know when it truly mattered to him. And he knew this really fucking mattered. 

*

Everyone else was already at the dinner table when he joined them. He had a bottle of vodka and a few glasses on a tray. Lambert put it in the middle of the table and then took his usual spot on the end, always chosen to be able to easily escape. But tonight he hoped he wouldn’t need it.

“Is that what I think it is?” Vesemir asked. He pushed his plate away a bit, and gave Lambert a look.

“It is,” Lambert said.

“A new flavour?” Triss smiled, she was always good for a dram or two. Lambert could see her hand resting on Eskel’s thigh.

“Very new,” Lambert agreed. “I made a mistake when I added flavour to this batch. I made one fucking hell of a truth serum.”

“Shit that explains that,” Jaskier said. He was looking at the bottle, intrigued and worried in equal measure from what Lambert could tell.

“You can’t just randomly make truth serum. It is one of the more delicate potions,” Eskel protested. “Triss is the best there is, and even she cannot make a full out truth serum.”

“It is true, if you won’t trust your brother’s word, you can trust mine. I have very good evidence that that bottle there contains an accidental, but very potent and authentic truth serum. Drink it and you’ll be compelled to answer any question honestly.”

Lambert looked at Eskel, “Go on, ask me.” He crossed his arms and raised his brow, waited. “Do it,” he demanded.

“A few years ago, you took a contract, griffin nest that almost killed you, and the lord stiffed payment because the fight destroyed some property of his.” Eskel looked tense, waited.

“Yeah,” Lambert smiled. “Not a question there, has to be a question, or I don’t feel compelled to say fuck all.”

“I went through that town the year after. The lord, the alderman, were dead. No one could figure out who did it.” Eskel took a breath, “Was it you?”

“Yes,” Lambert replied. He could feel all the eyes on him. “Town was better for it.”

“Was that your reason for doing it, rid the town of corruption?” Triss asked.

“No, I did it with glee and immense satisfaction for them fucking me over. Town was an incidental plus. The damage I did wasn’t even half the pay I was owed. They took glee in robbing me of what I was due. So I took glee in their deaths.”

“That is not the path we walk,” Geralt replied, horror in his voice. “Lambert how could you?”

“Oh, it was really easy,” Lambert replied earnestly. “His staff hated him, and the alderman as well. They had dinner every sennight, same meal, same time. A few crowns and they were poisoned with a slow acting paralytic. They were nice and aware as I slit open their veins, they watched as they bled out and felt nothing.” Lambert shrugged, “Not the first I’ve killed, not the last.”

“That’s murder,” Eskel shook his head. “How can you be so cold?”

“I wasn’t cold when I killed them, I was white hot with rage, my blood was molten lava in my veins,” Lambert leaned forward, “I don’t kill randomly, it isn’t hey you cut in front of me at the market you die now. But I lost fucking everything becoming a witcher, becoming the last one, so you best fucking believe if they disrespect us that much, they will fucking pay.”

“I don’t know if I approve,” Vesemir said after a moment.

“I am actually fine with that,” Triss added. She reached out poured herself some of the truth serum and shot back the whole glass. “Sometimes people just need killing.”

“I expect Yen to say something like that, not you,” Geralt looked at her in shock.

“Always knew you were my favourite, Merigold.”

“Triss,” Eskel seemed stunned.

“I’ve seen some of my friends die, be slaughtered for the magic they had no choice on whether they carry it or not. I stood on Sodden Hill and watched my sisters die, I killed, and almost died myself. We are beloved, prayed for, but if we can’t fix it, we are stoned, hunted. I can utterly sympathize and understand where Lambert is coming from, even if I wouldn’t do the same myself.” Triss looked in her glass. “I hear them dying in my dreams, and if there was one person I could kill to stop that noise, I would do it in a fucking heartbeat.” Lambert met her gaze. “How long for this to take effect?”

Lambert grinned at her. “How often you peg Eskel?”

“Not as often as I would like, he looks so amazing laid out for me to fuck, and oh this is really effective.”

“I don’t make shit,” Lambert agreed.

Triss grabbed the bottle and sniffed. “Oh, now this is interesting. You and I need to explore alchemy more together.”

“I would like that,” Lambert flushed a little. “No one ever -” He cut himself off, he wasn’t compelled unless there was a question, so fuck like he was finishing that sentence.

“No one ever what?” Triss asked.

“Eskel is brilliant at signs, there is no better fighter than Geralt. No one particularly notices the work I put in on our potions, bombs, constantly tweaking them. My work has saved the few lives we have left, and no one ever notices. So yeah, it would be great to be able to talk about this work with you, Triss.” Lambert met her gaze. “Another?” 

“Why not?”

Lambert poured the truth vodka into several cups and drank some more, Triss did the same. “Everyone else a fucking coward at this table?” He challenged. “You have a goddamn choice, way I see it. We keep on as we have been, or we finally lay all our cards on the table to each other.”

“There are no winners at that game,” Eskel protested.

“No, winning isn’t the point,” Lambert replied. He looked at Geralt. “This is about none of us losing anymore than we already are.”

“What are we losing?” Geralt asked.

“Me. You don’t drink tonight, you lose me.” Lambert was surprised when those words crossed his lips but thanks to the vodka they were the utter truth. “I am so fucking tired. Cards on the table, or come morning I am gone and none of you ever see me again. Except Ciri. I will always see my best girl.” He watched a tick in Geralt’s jaw, wondered why he didn’t seem to like that. No one was reaching for a glass, so he guessed he had an answer about how they felt about him. Lambert was about to get up and never come back, when he saw a hand reach out.

Vesemir drank.

A weight in his heart eased that at least his father cared enough to want to keep him. 

“Well, shit, not like I hide a lot anyways,” Jaskier declared and grabbed a drink. “One condition though -”

“It is all or nothing, Jaskier,” Lambert said. “Because otherwise why even bother?”

“I have places in me that aren’t yours,” Jaskier snapped back. “They aren’t even his.”

“Which his, Geralt or Vesemir?” Lambert looked at him. “This isn’t about you, not really.”

“Isn’t it?”

Lambert glared at him. “It is, because you get to have everyone I want, they think of you first. And fuck you don’t even appreciate it, like you should.” Lambert looked at him. “You haven’t told the truth a fucking day in your life. Everything you share is to hide what you think. You are as loud as Geralt is quiet, and it reveals just as much as him. Why you two get along so damn well. Not saying a damn thing to the people who need to hear you.”

Jaskier smiled, it was vicious, twisted his youthful features and showed every single year he lived. He slammed back the vodka. “Ask me what I think of you Lambert,” he challenged.

“I know what you think of me. Tell me, Jaskier, what is your greatest fear?” 

“Lambert, leave him alone, or I swear to -”

“Being forgotten,” Jaskier replied, “By Vesemir, by Geralt. Because I am going to die and they’ll keep going. I’m a fucking speck to them, how many decades until they forget my face? But if the songs endure, maybe they’ll be forced to remember me just a little longer. Tell me, Lambert, how much do you hate that Vesemir and I are together?”

“I have come to realize I don’t hate it. I hate that if you had to choose, you’d choose Geralt over him. And you’d break a lot of hearts when you did it - and I don’t even think you would care, would you?”

Jaskier was quiet for a moment and then wiped a tear away. “I would care.”

“I am not taking part in this,” Geralt declared. “You are just using this as an excuse to leave us anyways. Like you’ve always wanted.” He stood up. “Isn’t that right?”

“No,” Lambert said, “I don’t want to leave, but I am tired of staying, and being utterly unwanted.”

“Isn’t,” Eskel reached out and drank, “isn’t it that you push us away?”

“Sure, I do that too, but I used to try. Did you ever actually hear me?”

“I don’t know,” Eskel replied. He looked at the glass. “I like being a witcher, that you hated it, it hurt me. Do you hate it?”

“Some days,” Lambert sighed, “And then other days I hate that I don’t hate it. That is how I feel about most things. I’m always angry about something but that is usually because everything fucking hurts. You are always fucking hurting me. But I suppose, I have always been fucking hurting you.” Lambert slouched in his chair. “Fucking, someone ask me my favourite colour?”

“What is your favourite colour?” Triss asked kindly.

“The sickly green of a healing bruise. I thought growing up, everyone had that colour around their eyes. Learned, no, it was just because of my dad always hitting my mother. Became my favourite because it meant she was almost healed.” Lambert laughed, “Shit, I am a miserable bastard.” He couldn’t stop laughing and he watched Geralt out of the corner of his eye walk away from the table without drinking. He supposed that answered a few questions anyways.

“Do you need a comforting touch?” Vesemir asked.

“I do,” Lambert admitted. Vesemir’s hand closed over his and squeezed and it felt so good. He leaned down until his forehead touched that hand. “I don’t want you and I to go back to who we were before tonight. I need you.”

“You have me,” Vesemir promised.

“Thank you, Father,” Lambert tried it out in front of other people, and something eased inside him when no one made fun, or flinched away from it. “Jaskier, do you love Vesemir?”

“So very much,” Jaskier swore. “I…fuck, Geralt is my destiny, I believe that, and I am sorry that he is the sun that I orbit around. But he can burn, stare at it too long, and you’ll go blind. Vesemir is my shade, my rest. I know it doesn’t sound like much, fuck it is so little.”

“It is enough,” Vesemir kissed Jaskier, a gentle kiss, one of love. It made Lambert realize that Geralt never kissed him. Not like that, not at all really. “I don’t need to be the center of your world, I just want to be a part of it.”

“Until the day I die,” Jaskier pressed against Vesemir. “I am never drinking anything Lambert brews again.”

“Actually, he does this sweet wine, that is really quite delicious, I always steal a few bottles,” Eskel offered. He was clearly thinking. “Triss?”

“Yes?”

Eskel opened his mouth and then closed it. “Nevermind.”

“You aren’t a consolation prize because Geralt didn’t want me anymore,” Triss said kindly. “He barely wanted me in the first place. We were never a mistake, but we were never right. You and I are right.”

Lambert frowned a bit. “Fuck, fuck how come Geralt is the hero in all our stories, that is some bullshit right there. Why the fuck is that miserable bastard who breaks us again and again at the core of all of us?” He was furious. “Why does he get to take and take and we are always willing to give more?”

“He has suffered so much,” Triss began.

“Fuck that,” Lambert stood and began to pace. “Look at everyone in this room. I am the one who has probably suffered least, which Freya save us because I am so fucked up that it is a wonder that I can walk and talk at the same time.”

“Umm, I am right here?” Jaskier rose his hand. “I’ve had a good life. All in all.”

Lambert just snorted. “Really? Because I don’t even need to know your past - if you’ve considered us the best path for your life there is bullshit in there and being human it is going to just fuck you up because you don’t get centuries to forget it all happened.”

“Oh, that is, I don’t know what that is,” Jaskier said after a moment. “I think thank you, though.”

Lambert looked at the vodka and drank half the bottle. “I am done being burned,” he said. He slammed it down. “I’m staying through the season because I am not actually stupid enough to do the path in winter. But I won’t be back next. I’ll -” They all heard a crash outside and a roar.

Geralt.

They were all moving towards the call, because of course they were, when Geralt stormed back into the hall. He stalked right up to the table and picked up the bottle, finished it, before he slammed it down hard enough to shatter the glass. They stared at each other. “Why is it that out of all of us Ciri is the one whom you would seek out, why not me?”

“Because she loves me,” Lambert said, “Because she is the only one who would mourn if I died, when I die. Because as far as I could tell she is the only one who is truly my friend because she wants to be, not because we are habit, stuck together by trauma and magic. Why would it be you?”

“Because -” Geralt paused and no words came out. “I, how long until it takes effect? Ask me again?”

“Why would it be you?” Lambert repeated.

Geralt just shrugged. “I don’t feel compelled to answer.”

“His extra mutagens, breaking it down,” Vesemir shook his head. “He’d have to drink the whole batch to feel the effects, and that much vodka in that quick a time to make it work, he’d just sick it up or pass out.”

Lambert looked at the broken glass and began to laugh. “Of course. Of fucking course.” He didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t crying, he just let the tears fall. “I really fucking hate you sometimes, Geralt.”

“I know, that is why I never stay.”

“You don’t stay because I am just the only available hole to fuck, and harder to pretend I am someone else once you roll off and might have to look at my face.”

“I like your face,” Geralt picked up the other bottle and drank it. “Try again.”

“What’s the point?” Lambert just shrugged. “Fine, you drank, I will stay. Everyone abided by the rules. We’re done here.”

“Where’s the rest?” Geralt sounded desperate. “Vesemir is wrong, I pace it just carefully enough. Triss can gauge it. I’ll make it tell me the truth.”

“Or pup, you could finally for once in your life that isn’t Ciri, speak from your heart,” Vesemir suggested. He stood up and went over to Lambert. “And you, could listen.” He kissed Lambert’s temple and then he and Jaskier left. Lambert wanted to slit Jaskier’s throat for the sympathetic look he gave Lambert. He didn’t want to share that with Jaskier, the understanding that Geralt can hurt them as much as he wants, and they’ll always give him a chance to do it again.

But they did share it. They would forever.

Eskel was looking between them. “I can stay. If you need me.”

“I need you,” Lambert said. “Because you are my brother. But I don’t need you right now.” He watched Geralt nod a bit, and Eskel stood. “You too, Merigold.”

“You and I, we’re going to have some fun together.”

“Triss, you have to make this work,” Geralt was almost begging. “I can drink enough, maybe a potion, or magic rock? Make me tell the truth.”

Lambert and Eskel stood there as Triss went over to Geralt and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was cracked something in his facade, clearly hurt him. Lambert wanted to leap to the man’s defense but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. Lambert looked at the table, at how his plan had gone so wrong, because they always did. He didn’t wait or say another word, just left. He found himself going up high, mainly because Geralt loathed it, always said go up to high and a problem finds you how do you get back down. Lambert went to the tallest tower left in the keep, and went through the roof trap. It was cold, but it wouldn’t kill him. He went and sat on edge, looked down at a fall that would certainly kill him. Lambert smiled a bit. He always liked looking down at the world, when he could.

“I hate it when you do that,” Geralt said from behind him. He didn’t join Lambert in sitting over the edge of the tower, but sat against the wall on the ground. Lambert looked down and Geralt was very carefully studying the stone he was sitting on. “I hate when you take foolish risks.”

“Most of what we do is a foolish risk,” Lambert pointed out.

“Trying to save people isn’t foolish.”

“It really is, Geralt.” Lambert looked up at the sky. “You know any other night, I would pretend I was slipping, lean out more. To see how you would react, to see if you would reach for me. But I am not going to, because now I know - you wouldn’t.”

“How can you think that?”

“Because when I asked you to drink, to keep me, you walked the fuck away.”

“I came back. I always come back to you.”

“Geralt, please. Don’t lie to me tonight.”

“Do you want to know what Triss told me?”

“Fuck you, of course I do,” Lambert had never been more furious than he was in that moment that Geralt could ask him the truth as the man could sit there and lie. “Don’t ask me another fucking thing on this tower, Geralt.”

“She whispered,” Geralt had to pause and swallow, “that the only magic I needed to compel me to tell the truth was this: that if I didn’t, I would break your heart such that it would never again be whole.”

“Well that is pretty fucking dramatic.” Lambert snorted a bit. He looked down at the whole world stretched below him, and turned around, slid down so he was sitting next to Geralt. 

“I’ve broken so many hearts, too many. I cannot break yours.”

“Why?”

“Because yours matters in a way no other has.”

“That can’t be the truth,” Lambert sneered. “You’ve had -”

“No one,” Geralt looked at him, “I’m the heartbreaker, the one they want to tame, and heal and a million things. I’m never the one they want to fucking stay for. I’m not real to anyone. They never want Geralt, the mess, they want the fucking hero.”

“How can I trust a single fucking thing you say?” Lambert pressed his palms to his eyes. “You’ll say you’ll tell the truth, and fuck maybe it will be, but will it be the all the way deep down truth? You’d never give that to me. Not me. Ever.”

“I’m jealous of my daughter, the smiles she pulls from you so easily. Not a smirk or a joke, true happiness. I sometimes wonder what I could do to have you smile at me like that. Like I make you happy. That seeing me makes you happy. But I don’t think I do, so I take what you are willing to give me. A sneer is better than nothing.”

That didn’t make sense at all. “You don’t like me Geralt.”

“No, like is too small a word for everything I feel for you.” Geralt briefly glanced at him and then had to look back down. “Fuck, I hate being high up. No, it isn’t that, I can climb a fucking mountain and look out just fine. It is trusting the building to stay whole under my feet that is the problem.”

“What else do you hate?”

“The way you roll away from me after we fuck,” Geralt replied immediately, “How when I reach out to touch you in front of others you flinch away. That I would give you everything if I could, and you don’t want it.”

“Bullshit,” Lambert growled and hit at Geralt’s shoulder, gently. “Ciri and I ask you to hang out with us and you walk away. You never fuck me face to face. You never fucking kiss me Geralt. Because I’m not Jaskier that you missed your chance with, or Triss with her kindness, Yen with her passion, or anyone else you are thinking of when you sneak into my room because your own hand isn’t good enough that night.” Lambert had to lie down on the cold stone and stare up at the stars. “I suppose I should just be grateful that you don’t call someone else’s name when you fuck into me. Be nice though if you actually bothered to touch my cock.”

Lambert stopped breathing when Geralt’s hand touched his thigh. It stayed still for a moment and then slowly moved up until it was at his hip.

“Can I touch your cock?”

“Yes,” was all Lambert could say. He stayed still, terrified that any movement would stop whatever was happening. He had no clue what was happening. Geralt moved and was lying next to him on the stone. It was cold and hard and it was stupid, they should go inside, be by a fire, in a bed, anywhere but here. But if they moved, they might not get back whatever was happening. Lambert barely breathed as Geralt’s hand settled over his cock. He could feel the warmth of Geralt’s palm through his breeches. Geralt was dragging his fingers along the length, measuring it seemed. Lambert could feel himself hardening slowly under the far too delicate touch. He wasn’t fragile, for fuck’s sake. “More.”

Geralt curled into Lambert as he pushed his hand into Lambert’s breeches. Lambert arched into the touch, the feel electric after so long of having so little. “You want me to be honest?” Geralt was the quietest Lambert had ever heard him. Before the truth serum could force an answer out of him, Geralt was already talking again, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“What? Be honest? Sure it is hard but -” Geralt’s hand wasn’t quite right, still too gentle. The cold air would be gross but he didn’t care. Lambert pushed the breeches down. He gasped at the cold air against skin, but it let him better position Geralt’s hand. 

“You aren’t the first man I’ve fucked, but it hasn’t been a lot, and it was never…this is how it is supposed to be isn’t it?” 

Well, fuck. Lambert looked at Geralt who was focused on his hand on Lambert’s cock. “Is that a lie?”

“I wish it was,” Geralt replied. “Do I do, how I like?”

“It is a good place to start,” Lambert agreed and gasped when Geralt began to move his hand up and down. “How many men?”

“Less than six, more from curiosity, or it was what was available at the brothel. And you didn’t, they didn’t -” Geralt pressed his face in, tried to burrow into Lambert. “I haven’t been hurting you have I?”

“Every fucking time,” Lambert growled, and Geralt made a wounded noise started to pull away. “If you stop touching me, I will drop you over the side of the tower. Never physically, it never hurt that way. It wasn’t rape, Geralt. It was the absence of you that hurt, feeling like I was nothing to you.”

“I am nothing to you,” Geralt countered. “I was sure of that.”

“You could be everything, if you just let me in.”

“Everyone I have let in, they all find better. There is always someone, something better than me. And I stand there and have to be happy for them, as they talk about me being the one to hurt them, never seeing the blows they have landed. I’m never the one who walks away.”

“You always walk away from me,” Lambert countered. He wrapped his hand around Geralt’s and adjusted his grip. “And telling me that you were treating me like a whore is not exactly fucking helping this at all.”

“I was walking before you could kick me out,” Geralt’s voice cracked in the middle, and Lambert knew he was telling the truth. “Can you - sorry I’ve already broken the don’t ask you questions.” He kept stroking in the way Lambert had shown him, and it was feeling so good, even as their conversation hurt so much.

“Ask me,” Lambert said and then pulled Geralt close for a hard kiss. He nudged and Geralt was on top of him. He pushed down Geralt’s breeches, gripped the man’s cock so that they were pressed against each other. It was uncomfortable and yet better than anything they had ever done before. “Ask me, Geralt, and you get the truth.”

“Can you lie to me, and tell me you need me. All I want is to be needed by you.” Geralt’s forehead was pressed to his and he began thrust, dry skin against dry skin, hot bodies, cold air making everything feel too much.

A tear slipped from Lambert’s eye. “I can’t,” he replied because right now he couldn’t. “I don’t need you, Geralt. Fuck I’ve seen when people need you how it all turns out. I never want to need you.” Geralt was still against him, and Lambert reached between them. Held both cocks and worked furiously, brought them both off, the come falling on their shirts, as they gasped for air, as they both shed tears of pain, of relief that they had finally spoken to each other. “But I want you. I would choose you if you’d let me. No fate, no destiny, just looking you in the eye and saying, stay. I want you to stay. I want to be allowed to love you. I want to matter to you, and you to know you matter to me.” Lambert looked Geralt in the eye as he said those things. Waited.

He wasn’t surprised when Geralt stood, adjusted the breeches and left the tower roof. Lambert stayed there until the cold air grew too much. Because if he was right, if his heart was right, Geralt would be in Lambert’s room when he went downstairs.

Or maybe his heart was the one thing that could lie right now.

Lambert went downstairs, his footsteps echoed heavily and Geralt wasn’t waiting outside his door. His nose was just cold enough he couldn’t smell if Geralt was inside the room. Lambert closed his eyes and pushed the door open. He couldn’t go in. Lambert found he couldn’t open his eyes. Fuck he couldn’t, because when he did and the room was empty, he’d be hollow. 

There was a kiss pressed to his forehead, “I want to matter to you,” was whispered against his skin. A gentle kiss to his mouth. “I swear, from here on out you will know you matter to me.”

Lambert opened his eyes and Geralt was standing there looking more vulnerable than he had ever seen the man be. “Geralt, tell me the truth.”

“I will.”

Lambert cupped his cheek. “Why did you storm out? From the hall? Why wouldn’t you drink at first?”

“Because I was scared. Of what you would say, of what I would say.” He paused. “No, that isn’t the full truth. I walked away because -” Lambert could see him struggling, determined to answer but not really knowing how.

Lambert gave him a gentle kiss. “I think that is enough truth for today. Stay. I want you to stay.”

“I want to stay.” 

They crawled into bed and Geralt was so hesitant about wrapping his arms around Lambert, unsure of how it would be received. But Lambert snuggled in close. “Geralt? What’s your favourite colour. All these years and I don’t know.”

“I don’t really have one. I guess…red is nice?” Geralt laughed. “They are just colours.” Lambert smiled at that, broadly happily because it was the most Geralt answer ever. “You are smiling, for me.” Geralt sounded a bit choked up. 

“I am,” Lambert’s smile widened. “Geralt, why don’t you ask me all sorts of interesting questions.”

“We’ve hurt enough, tomorrow we can -”

Lambert chuckled. “No, I know. Ask me what I can do with my tongue.” They were starting something properly this time, in the morning they would have to sort out a lot, when they both had to rely on each other’s word and not a serum that they were being honest. But Lambert deserved to have a bit of fun with the truth, now that it wasn’t going to hurt as much.

“Oh,” for a moment he sounded so confused. “Ohhh,” Geralt drew out. “Lambert, what can you do with your tongue?”

“Make you beg,” Lambert said, and a little bit later Geralt could give absolute confirmation that that was the truth.


End file.
